


Apex

by Phosphorite



Category: Free!
Genre: Angst, Friendship, M/M, Oneshot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-02
Updated: 2013-09-02
Packaged: 2017-12-25 10:21:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/951954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phosphorite/pseuds/Phosphorite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not a story about pity, though. It's not a story about lament, either. In some ways, it might be a story of regret, but that's still not quite right; regardless, it is a story that's his.</p>
<p>Or, Nitori's recollections of a life intertwined with Matsuoka Rin's: of the things that happened, the things that didn't, and the things that could have.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Apex

 

Thing is, he knows what it looks like on paper.

He knows, because there was a point in time when he wrote it down; tried to scramble together haphazard words to somehow convey –express, liberate, _rid_ – the events of the past months in writing. Two sentences in, and all the hesitantly smudged page of a notebook ever relayed back at him was an air of self-pity, almost palpable in its rawness. It made him feel nauseated then as it does now, but for the longest time, he doesn't know how else to tell the story.

It's not a story about pity, though. It's not a story about lament, either. In some ways, it might be a story of regret, but that's still not quite right; regardless, it is a story that's his.

*

In a chronological manner of speaking, he might start by describing the day he became Matsuoka Rin's roommate. (He often did, if only to scrap that part out three seconds later, because none of this began on the day he became Matsuoka Rin's roommate.) He might start out with a throwback, a foreboding flashback into the past, to the day he watched Rin win the relay race with the boys from Iwatobi. (He sometimes tried that too, but it sounded insincere; he had admired all of them, equally, in that snapshot moment of camaraderie and triumph – to single Rin out would have felt oddly imposing, since nothing about this began on the day he witnessed the relay.)

No, the reason he rarely begins with the truth is because as is often the case with honesty, accuracy yields but embarrassingly banal answers: all of this began precisely a week and two days into becoming roommates with Matsuoka Rin, one lazy evening after practice when he heard the bottom bunk shift, accompanied by a lethargic voice, _Do you want to go get grab something to eat?_

Looking back, maybe it was silly. Maybe it still is. But Nitori, he–– well, it sounds equally silly, but up until that exact moment he had mentally never really considered Rin's universe to eventually overlap with his own. Not for any conscious reason, probably. Over the years he had simply developed a defense mechanism to adjust to the competitive atmosphere of his school, where a person of his nature –straightforward, exuberant, sincere to the point of overwhelming– was not always met with appreciation. It was easier to anticipate the indifference from certain kind of people, easier to ignore the sidelong glances and cocky sneers.

It wasn't self-deprecating then, and it isn't self-deprecating now. What it comes down to are the facts, and their likely outcome. When the coach told them that Rin had joined the swimming team, and assigned the two of them as roommates, the years he had spent gauging the limits of his welcome meant that Nitori harbored little idealism over Rin's hypothetical interest in his life. It wasn't like Nitori held this against him; a star athlete whose four years in Australia were probably more consequential than Nitori's entire life, well, chances were that he had better things to do, better people to hang out with than some underclassman whose progress left the captain of their team twisting the side of his mouth in a half-strained, half-reassuring smile.

For the better part of their first week together, the words Rin spoke outside practice barely amounted to double digits. The strange part of it, though, was that none of it felt specifically disconcerting or personal; Nitori was used to sneers, even open hostility from others, but Rin... there was something _different_ about Rin, somehow, as though he did not so much reject Nitori's presence rather than just subconsciously zoned him out. It made him curious, on a level he hadn't expected, because everything about Rin seemed quizzical or just downright bizarre: from the way he had joined the swim team on a whim, to how he would ignore the vibrations of his phone, to the air of apathy and mild aggression oozing out of their dorm room on the weekend Nitori came back from visiting his family and realized Rin had never even left the premises of their school.

For a week and two days, Nitori sort of assumed that this was how it would always be: Rin's universe, disconnected and disinterested in the world outside the walls of their practice hall, would never collide with his own. Not until the day those ten little words caught Nitori's attention, as natural and effortless as they were unexpected; he remembers sticking his head out the side of his bunk, eyes widening with an almost painfully blatant disbelief, and when he said _Who, me?_ he was met with a frighteningly genuine look of confusion as Rin replied, _Yes, you, who the hell else?_

And that, well, that is how it began.

(There are days he wonders, just _wonders_ what would have happened, had he just said no.)

*

The stories we weave rarely progress logically. In Nitori's case, what this means is that he would come to find it increasingly difficult trying to connect all the dots that eventually paved way for the bigger picture. What it means is that he doesn't remember what they talked about, not that time grabbing an evening snack, not the next morning before class, not the days that followed in an idle consistency that must have entailed tentative efforts at friendship.

What he remembers, instead, are remnants of a feeling with no name. A fleeting, indescribable warmth in his stomach that trailed after each and every one of those moments: first the bewilderment, then delight, and finally a strange, sinking smugness that came with the knowledge that he was, slowly but surely, becoming friends with Matsuoka Rin.

Thing is... it's hard to explain, the reasons why it mattered so much back then. He likes to think that since the day their universes aligned and overlapped, Matsuoka Rin became just Rin: not the future Olympic swimmer, not the person Mikoshiba-senpai duked it out in practice every second day, not the student capable of fuelling an entire yearbook's worth of rumours. To Nitori, it was never about the fact that Rin was _a star swimmer_ or _lived in Australia_ or even _dude, look at those incisors, bet they could cut a steel pipe in half,_ like many of the other underclassmen whispered in hushed tones when they thought Rin was out of hearing range; sure, all of these (well, sans the part about the steel pipe, probably) were ingrained in the general concept of why-Matsuoka-Rin-is-more-fascinating-than-Takizawa-from-class-F, but it was never Nitori's intention to sculpt him out of traces of hero worship.

(Or is that just self-denial? On some days, even Nitori can't tell. Because it's hard to view someone objectively when everything about them is _greater better more impressive_ than you, and he likes to think that in the days, weeks, and ultimately months that passed, he learned how to see through it all. Maybe in some ways, it's impossible to ever say for certain. Maybe in some ways, none of that has any real bearing on his story.)

Because it was a gradual progress, as fast as it all ultimately came tumbling over him, which is why piecing the memories together logically feels like such a herculean effort in retrospect. Why it is so impossible to say when he first started picking up on the–– signs, of sorts (maybe? kind of?), that suddenly popped up on Nitori's radar, things he could not help but notice. Because as much as the small, pessimistic part of his mind kept screaming _don't read too much into this, he probably just doesn't have anything better to do, I bet he's just humouring me so Captain won't get on his case for being mean to underclassmen_ , Nitori couldn't deny the sudden lightness in his chest any more than he could ignore the tiny jolt of happiness at the sight of Rin waiting for him after practice, Rin getting him an extra can of soda, Rin asking him if he still wanted the light on in order to read.

He tried his best to choke it down; he swears he did. It didn't... matter, really. Anyone would have felt pleased, impressed even, to discover sides to Rin that were more than just his typical asocial broodiness and vehement need to practice around the clock – because Nitori was Rin's roommate, it just happened to be him. That's... all it was, he kept telling himself even after it felt futile to downplay the tiny acts of kindness themselves. But at the same time, it was becoming harder and harder to pretend like Nitori didn't, as it happened, also desperately wish that there was a part of Rin that was genuinely, knowingly, consciously doing them for him, because...

He often thinks back at those days and wonders what it was that he wanted to finish that sentence with, if he wanted anything at all; it used to fluster him, on moments when Rin would say something, perhaps an offhanded taunt, and Nitori would feel himself flush scarlet over the simple implication that Rin felt comfortable enough around him to throw out such casual words. Whether they were disposable jokes or crude remarks, it made him feel like the two of them were peers, or cohorts, or cronies, or... companions?

(Because he'd often witnessed upperclassmen talking to each other like that, in jeers and jibes and throaty laughs, and Nitori had sometimes wondered what it was like to be part of a team – not one where you had to put up with people you hated for the sake of the school championship, but a _real_ team, made out of people who viewed each other as equals. People you'd _chosen_. Those... more important to you than anyone else.)

It was a thought he ran through his head on practice days, with his gaze firmly fixed on Rin's perfect form and perfect stroke and perfect everything, as the waves of his fervor broke against the edge of the pool; in return, a wave of determination would wash over Nitori, cementing his decision to support and root for Rin in whichever trials and tribulations fell his way. There had been a strange sort of pride in that resolve: because it might not have been much, the listlessly wading afternoons he spent checking score, handing out towels, speaking words of awe and encouragement, but it was something he could do, nonetheless.

It was worth it, he still knows, if just for those few occasions as Rin touched his arm and breathed out a few ragged words of gratitude. Because in those seconds, he swears he could have felt it, the distant thunder of something growing, evolving between them, and the thought of it left him feeling oddly lightheaded.

In many ways, those moments were the worst of all.

*

He knows that in many ways, it would be dishonest to say it caught him unaware when things started to change. He knows, because somewhere at the back of his mind still loomed the silent dread, the gnawing suspicion that their budding friendship seemed entirely too unlikely to last; and so, once the two of them started talking (or rather, once Rin started responding in actual, well-formulated sentences), there would come a time when he detected a window of opportunity, reached for it, and lunged right in.

The first time was an accident. The first time he couldn't have known that he would be stepping directly onto a thinly veiled land mine the moment he uttered the words _Iwatobi_ and _Nanase Haruka_ out loud. The expression he received from Rin in return was full of such vitriolic, raw emotion that it literally caught Nitori breathless for a few passing heartbeats; and it was with that he realized that he had entered a whole new realm of baited traps, which he distantly sensed was off-limits but found it impossible not to pry into at the same time.

All those countless landmines, in the shapes of names engraved in old record books, scribbled behind faded photographs, buried under layers of rejected memories. While there was something deeply disconcerting about the smoldering, red fury in Rin's eyes that they managed to gauge out of him, it would not be the last time Nitori found himself scratching on the surface of the past Rin visibly recoiled from, because... because he simply couldn't not do it, either.

On one hand, maybe it was selfish. Selfish, to feel a funny kind of achievement from realizing he had struck a nerve with Rin. So little seemed to faze him, after all; and as the days dragged on, flooded by the blissful redundancy of practice, sleep, and Rin's compliant yet altogether-too-formal responses to Nitori's few attempts at bonding, Nitori began to grow acutely aware that what Rin essentially saw him as was probably nothing short of a... younger brother.

(Because the times when he plucked up his courage and raised his voice to _ask_ Rin something, like _did you ever feel different from others back when you were younger_ , or _what do you do when it feels like your parents expect more out of you than you think you can give_ , or _do you ever fear that you might not meet the one person who understands you exactly as you are_ , the briefest look of genuine confusion would flash on Rin's face, only to soften into an almost gentle smile as he replied with reassuring words that felt as rehearsed as they were skin-deep; and it... hurt, because Nitori realized that Rin wasn't doing it to be dismissive, but because he didn't realize that Nitori wasn't asking for advice, or encouragement, but to know how Rin _felt_.)

It was the same whenever Nitori tried to convey emotions of sincere concern, to reach out at Rin and let him know that he was _there_ , if, you know, ever, anything, sort of, maybe; but somewhere along the line the message would disconnect, and only the fragments of Nitori's resolve ever seemed to land home, at best eliciting a lighthearted grin and a passing laugh as Rin failed to fully grasp the full weight of Nitori's words.

It... shouldn't have left a weightless, empty feeling in the pit of his stomach. He's still not sure why he couldn't, all things considered, have settled for the knowledge that Rin was willing to share his life with him, even if what it meant was skirting on the hedges of the real Matsuoka Rin. It should have been enough. It was already more than most people would ever get.

But in the abrupt flash of fury he had witnessed in Rin's eyes that one afternoon after practice, he saw more than just a window of opportunity: he saw, if only briefly, a completely new side of Rin, a side that, perhaps, only Nitori was privy to, and well, that...

(that meant everything)

He would flinch at the realization, brush it off momentarily, and pretend like none of it was intentional; perhaps, it is this exact point of self-deception that always holds his hand when he tries to recall the first weeks and months that passed between them, clouded in Rin's emotional unavailability and Nitori's gradual descent into despondency.

Because it was never–– he didn't wish to ever––

...and it is around here that the story fractures in a way Nitori never anticipated it to, and when he looks back at the ripples of his fumbling attempts to re-align its course, sometimes he feels... wistful.

_What did I think I wanted back then?_ were words he once wrote, in a sudden need to unwind his emotions, but nothing followed; he scrapped the paper, as he has scrapped many others since, but the question remains to this day.

*

In a sense, it's probably no wonder that all of it started to unravel around that time.

Not because Nitori specifically armed himself up to his teeth with the new-found ammunition that seemed to slide under Rin's skin in ways that none of Nitori's personal efforts could, but because ever since then, he simply couldn't not know about it. And not knowing, well, it made it a hell of a lot harder not to notice _everything_.

(He likes to think, likes to believe that he never intentionally made conscious use of this fact for his own gain. Truth is, he probably didn't. But he wouldn't be Nitori if he didn't also worry, in the slow hours of early morning, that the choices he made were somehow wrong, or insincere, or selfish. But we are all selfish, and we do what we can; and at the time, there was little else Nitori could do at all.)

It wasn't wrong to want to feel–– closer, to Rin, even if it was only through gaining a better understanding of what went through his mind when he woke up in the middle of the night and thought Nitori was asleep. The closer they got to the prefectural tournament, the worse Rin's sleeping cycle got; it was too much of a coincidence then, as it was too much of a coincidence at training camp, to think that none of this had anything to do with the impending presence of the Iwatobi club.

By the time Nitori understood how much this fact sent tiny jolts of aggravation through his own spine, it was already too late to reel his reactions in. They were instinctive as they were also sort of petty, and looking back Nitori feels a light flush of embarrassment upon realizing that the bitterness had probably started oozing out of him the second he spoke the words _Is it because of Nanase-san_ aloud in a feeble attempt to knock Rin off balance, knock him out of that ridiculous stubbornness to waste all his potential on a juvenile race with a childhood friend.

(Or at least, that's what Nitori told himself it was;

even after the tiny whispers at the back of his head made it that much harder to pretend like he was only looking out for Rin, only ever concerned about his progress and prospects, and why did they all _look_ at Nitori like that anyway, as though he was needlessly invested, as though it was wrong to care, as if he'd––)

Something foreign and irate kept clawing at him in a way he had long since forgotten, and he hated it. Because it made him feel vulnerable, in a way he had fought against for the better part of his teenage years, but it only took a few well-placed glares and a dismissive tone from Rin to send the ghosts of insecurity and uneasiness back in.

_I am upset_ , he told Rin directly, later, and while the words still registered no more than they had in the past, Rin did not turn away; instead, they spoke of Rin's aspirations, of Rin's father, and the air of calm resolve that surrounded him made Nitori wonder if he had overreacted after all. Because Rin was still Rin, and even slow progress was progress; there was no need to let his old weaknesses take hold.

That night, as he watched the light of Rin's bedside lamp waver and flicker, he momentarily contemplated leaning down and confessing his honest feelings for a second time that day, but came to a halt when he realized that he didn't really know what it was he wanted to say in the first place.

Maybe,

_Tell me everything will stay the same_

or

_Please don't leave me behind_

but he couldn't put it in words, not in any way that would have sounded right and not overly needy, and as he lowered his head back on the pillow and listened to the rustling of pages turning below his bunk, Nitori also swallowed down the sudden gush of fear that had begun seeping into his bones in the aftermath of understanding why he was so upset at all.

 

*

There's an apex for everything.

Nitori used to find the idea of it oddly unsettling, because it reminded him of his own limitations. No matter how much he practiced, how many miles and lifetimes he spent pushing through the water, there would always be a pinnacle past which he could not progress; it was like waves were telling him, _close, but not good enough_ , in hushed and condescending tones.

Still, he kept trying. Because something was better than nothing, and because he didn't think he had a choice. Because, because.

The memory catches him unaware on the first day of the prefecturals, and with that he knows the apex of his emotional tug-of-war has finally caught up with him.

It does not sneak up on him in the morning, when Rin wakes up with an unusual amount of exuberance, to the point where his sharp smile stretches half an inch wider and dark eyes light up two shades brighter; it does not sneak up on Nitori when they board the bus, and Rin's scintillating confidence is contagious enough for Nitori to lean a shoulder against his arm. Curiously, it does not sneak up on him even when they call out the names of the participants of hundred meter freestyle, because the air is heavy with anticipation and the cheers of his fellow Samezuka classmates engulf the distant echo that stirs in his chest.

Rin wins, of course.

It should not be an afterthought, even if it almost is, but only because the race ever had but one outcome. Nitori knows this, which is why it sort of feels like watching a scripted play when Rin climbs out of the pool afterwards. Maybe, for a completely irrational fraction in time, Nitori thinks that _this_ might it – the apex, here, now, in the words Rin spits at Nanase-san, who freezes in the water as though someone has turned his entire body into lead; Nitori is too far away to bear full witness to the climax of whatever has held Rin captive to his past all this time, but in the acidic smile he slams in Nanase-san's face, the scene reminds Nitori of the old films he saw as a child.

He doesn't stop to think why he cannot picture Rin as the hero, no more than he can imagine Nanase-san as the villain; he's too busy wading through the throngs of people, pushing his way out to be the first person congratulating Rin after his victory. It's almost like they are both following the same script, still, when Rin lifts his head and smiles in response; as Rin takes the moment to cheer Nitori on in return, a brief relief washes over him, like they've dodged the bullet, like Nitori was worried for nothing, like the impending storm has passed them by.

Should Nitori regret something later, it is this naïve illusion of peace, and how hungrily he clutches at it; if there is one thing he eventually feels selfish for, it is his impulsive need to feed into Rin's facade. But even if he probably should anticipate the eye of the hurricane, to know that nothing about Matsuoka Rin is as simple or straightforward as it seems, what he doesn't know, know, know, is that

(while he is overcome by the water and doused in the waves of his own adrenaline later that afternoon, while he is putting his everything into that one chance of repaying everyone –repaying Rin– for their faith in him, a piece of his world is shifting in a corridor haunted with rejected memories and childhood friends; and when Nitori emerges, out of breath and heart pounding in his ears, he cannot locate Rin's face in the crowd, and in a sudden but primal pang of instinct it's then that he _knows_

that he's been running away for so long, but the apex has finally caught up.)

*

In the end, the stories we tell rarely unwind as dramatically as we envision in our heads. It's only natural, of course. Emotions are simple, and to the point; it's us who inflate them, loading each and every corner with expectations, to the point where it is nearly impossible to tell what it originally was we felt (wanted) at all. Perhaps, that is why Nitori has found it so difficult to draw a linear line from the beginning to the end. Perhaps, there's a part of him that has been avoiding it, lest he find out what the choice might entail.

Because it is a choice, and he has always known this, at the very back of his mind; even if he did not actively choose the nights he spent laying awake and trying to rid himself of the suffocating dread that he could not control any of it, he _did_ choose the days, ones he spent trailing by Rin's side, watching him practice, watching their room light up with energy and hope.

He discovers Rin in the bus at the end of day one of prefecturals, and it is at once that he notices something has changed. Rin offers genuine words of apology for having missed Nitori's race, but it's clear his mind is light years away: gone is the confident, smug smile of his victory, the air of accomplishment, the exaggerated bravado. They fall into a staged silence, camouflaged by the chatter of their rowdy swim team, and as the sun starts to wade in the distance, Nitori fixes his eyes on the horizon while Mikoshiba-senpai's boastful recounts of today's achievements dull into a distant echo in the background.

He feels a strange kind of emptiness watching the remnants of the day pass by, as though part of him desperately wishes it could cling to what is left of his life prior to this moment, but it's useless; by his side, Rin drifts in and out of universes and Nitori has never felt as acutely aware of his own inability to pull him back in.

Or so he thinks, in the minutes that pass during the bumpy ride back home, because as much as he struggles or avoids having to confront it, the apex never shifts. But what he does not realize, not until the moment he stares at the _2:02_ on his digital clock after Rin never returns to their room, is that it's not about his limitations and never was; it's about making choices, and he has yet to make his.

The practice hall is silent save for the absent-minded splash of water as Rin dangles his bare feet over the edge, shoulders heavy, arms tense by his side. Nitori is positive that Rin can tell when he enters, but they initially exchange no words; Rin doesn't tell him to leave any more than he tells Nitori to join him, but it's alright. Nitori's not doing this because he thinks it's what Rin wants or does not want, but because it's what _he_ wants, now that time is catching up with him and leaving him little room to hide.

So he shrugs off his shoes, sits down next to Rin, and there's a moment where the soles of his feet tickle with the cold water as his skin breaks the surface. He can hear the rustle of Rin's training jacket as he shifts, slightly, and the sound of splashing amplifies.

And all at once, Nitori feels like he is both calm and screaming on the inside, because nothing about this is anything he knows at all; he has been running on pure instinct, but instinct won't last you forever; and it sort of makes him feel like laughing, because without even having to ask he could swear, just _swear_ that whatever weighs Rin down at this very moment actually mirrors his own turmoil, the paralyzing realization that you can only race blindly down one path long enough without landing at the junction you pretended didn't exist.

(And it... hurts, like a twinge in the recesses of his heart, to know that this path isn't one they share; because Rin's path, well it winds down far deeper than Nitori's, weaving and zigzagging through years of wounded memories that hasten around people who are not him; and it is not that Nitori didn't always know this, somewhere at the very back of his mind, but he couldn't help hoping, wishing, thinking, that maybe...)

It is his story. He has not forgotten that.

But what he briefly forgets is that it is Rin's, too; that at this point in time, they are still intertwined, even if it's only on sheer circumstance. (It's not, of course; nothing about this is an accident or a chance event, but neither of them really knows it at the time, and so the invisible chain reaction of their unlikely friendship is a story for another day.)

It is to his credit that Rin intuitively picks up on this, as though there is something so raw and vulnerable in his current psyche that it disarms him long enough to allow Nitori in; when he speaks, Rin's voice reverberates in the water, distorting and almost disguising the painful sincerity of his tone.

But only almost.

_Why do you always want to swim with me?_

The words come out, accompanied by a tilt of Rin's head as he gazes at Nitori with translucent, exhausted eyes, and for a second Nitori cannot breathe. Because his senses, they are–– overwhelmed, overloaded, overridden, by two sides of him simultaneously lunging over one another like feral monsters, in this rare moment of–– of _power_ that he realizes he suddenly wields over Rin;

because the look Rin shoots his way is one he can recognize, in all of its destitute sincerity, and it speaks in volumes of all the things Rin does not voice out loud: _please don't leave me alone; please give me the answers I don't have the strength to uncover myself yet_.

It is as jarring as it is strangely enticing to witness this side of Rin, because for all Nitori's attempts at humanizing Rin in his head, Nitori is not sure if he ever genuinely thought of what it would be like to behold Rin's weaknesses, stripped bare; Nitori's mouth feels parched, his fingertips are burning, and the chaos that rages on between his heart and his reason is slowly consuming his ability to speak.

( _what_

_was it that I wanted_ )

He lifts his head anew, and the expression on Rin's face still twists his insides into knots; but all of a sudden the light shifts, casting an unreadable iridescence on Rin's eyes, and in that moment Nitori can suddenly see the future.

(And it's all there,

laid out before him in all its raw glory and bittersweet ache;

the way he only needs one exact answer, only needs to lean in and press his lips on Rin's for the thread of time to snap and twist their paths together forever;

the way Rin's fingers will feel as they hasten around his wrist, and his face breaks into a deep, genuine smile, and how Nitori's heart skips a beat at the sound of his own name;

and the days they'll spend together, in the weeks that follow, breathing in his scent in bed after practice, the mixture of chlorine and bulk industry soap submerging all of Nitori's senses the moment Rin leans in to kiss him;

the sundowns he'll watch fading into a comfortable lull, huddled up in one of Rin's track jackets, listening to Rin argue over the phone with his sister while their fingers never unlace, never at once break contact for one moment;

the burst of triumph that leaps out of Nitori's chest when Rin's palms slam against the wall of the pool with staggering, record-breaking vigor, and as the air around him explodes in a cacophony of cheers and screams, no voice will ring out clearer and higher over the Olympic chaos than Nitori's own.)

_It will be everything you ever imagined_ , says the small whisper at the back of his mind, and the words snake around his heart with an ease that is almost frighteningly impossible to reject; but as they do, Nitori also senses them slowly clenching tighter, tighter, tighter until he can no longer breathe, because the voice in the recesses of his conscious mind is also absolute.

( _everything_ )

and so, what he also sees are the mornings, stretched and stripped in silence when Rin wakes up hours ahead and sits on the side of the bed staring into nothing with listless, glazed eyes of diluted wine;

the dim flicker of Rin's cellphone, coming to life with e-mails he spends minutes upon minutes reading and re-reading in the dead of the night, with something choked in his expression when he thinks no-one's looking;

the way the side of Rin's mouth tenses in a pained smile on the turn of New Year, in response to Tachibana-san's light joke about making sure that this year, each and every one of their 'firsts' count;

and when the clock strikes midnight, Rin's eyes will subtly but firmly seek out Nanase-san's on pure instinct, for that brief second cut out of time before he turns his head away, and the desolate flicker of life drowns in the brittle December air as quickly as it emerged

(and how Rin will never speak a word of any of it, no more than Nitori will ever speak a word of it, because they both know that they know that they know, and that there is absolutely nothing to say.)

Nitori's throat feels heavy, but his heart feels heaviest of all; and as he watches Rin, expectant and lost, he feels a strip of his insides peeling away as he slowly pulls his feet out of the water. The hand he lays on Rin's shoulder is gentle but firm, and he sort of wishes it were possible to convey all the things he wants to say in that simple gesture alone, but in the meantime his words will have to do.

Because they are sincere, as unashamed and honest as he could ever be with another person, and the knowledge of that somehow hurts – because it's always been a gamble but he's not playing this game alone anymore, and he cannot, cannot do this to Rin, because more than anything he does not want to do it to himself.

As he thinks of this, the thought leaves him feeling... light, lighter than he had even imagined; and when his voice cuts the silence, Nitori finds himself speaking with a confidence that wells up from somewhere deep beneath his fears and fantasies, from a place where the two of them exist as equals, and always did.

_Because you're my friend_

He does not glance down at Rin to see if his eyes widen, if his expression changes at all; when Nitori moves his hand away and takes a step forward, he doesn't glance over his shoulder to see if Rin's gaze trails on his retreating back. Somehow he knows it's better if he doesn't.

The sound his wet feet make against the paved floor is oddly comforting in its familiarity, like traces of the life he has lived, a life he has yet to live. The desolate air drains out of the hall in tune with his footsteps, and fifteen minutes after Nitori arrives at the dorm, Rin returns. The second his head hits the pillow he sleeps continuously until the very morning, and dreams of nothing.

They both do.

*

In the end, it is sort of ironic.

Is, was, could be, whatever. Irony is a word that Nitori has grown to view with suspicion, because more often than not things happen exactly as they are meant to, and whether we realize these hidden implications or not depends entirely on our own point of view.

So when he wakes up on the following morning with the nondescript sensation that something has changed indefinitely, Nitori does not shy away from the voice at the back of his mind (as absolute and honest as the one of last night, which is why Nitori feels inclined to listen) that tells him their stories are still connected, and that the day Rin receives his answer, Nitori will also find his own.

Perhaps that is why he does it. No–– he doesn't think, consciously, when the announcer calls out the participants of the medley race and his heart rate suddenly speeds up with the recognition of what it _means_ ; the voice whispers _here_ and with that his feet are moving on their own, carrying him across the audience and into the corridor where he will find Rin, unaware of the fact that his real future is passing him by.

Nitori won't let it happen, of course;

because it's about both of them, this time, and whether Rin understands it or not, Nitori is no longer afraid to push for closure when he knows it will set him free. No longer afraid of the apex, because he's made his choice, and whether the choice is right or wrong, it's one that is his.

The fervor in which his words send Rin running, dashing, flying to the poolside to witness his childhood friends race without him, well it certainly answers all the underlying questions Nitori might have still had, demolishes any second guesses he may have harbored in the darker corners of his heart; and in a way, he almost expects the pang of disappointment that always follows in the wake of realizing Rin is rupturing through their shared universe and returning to his own, but this time, the pain never comes.

(And Nitori realizes,

that it's because he was never part of Rin's universe to begin with, not really, not until that moment last night when he closed his eyes and entered it of his own accord; and while it is here that their stories will take on different paths and follow separate roads, it is because of that decision that their lives will ultimately never be disconnected again.)

And so, it is not with envy or regret that he watches the scene unfold, witnessing the side of Rin's face tensing in pent up emotion and his hands balling into fists as the students of Iwatobi take the stage, one by one; and how, eventually, all that hate dissolves out of Rin when he locks eyes with Nanase-san, who seems almost as distraught and lost for that brief moment in time, before his gaze hardens with resolve; and whether the two of them, the four of them, or any of them will ever find peace in this stubborn war of nerves that holds them captive to a past they can't (won't) quite let go of, Nitori cannot say;

but what he can say is that in the seconds of frenzy that pass during the race, a whirlwind of past and present bleeding together in the heartbeats that momentarily join one another after years of absence, he feels a tiny chapter in his heart closing, and when it does it closes without regret.

Because it's his story, and it doesn't end here.

 

 

\- fin

**Author's Note:**

> I originally wrote this for a friend (both as an exercise in sort-of-canon-compliant Rin/Nitori and an attempt to expand on Nitori's character), with little intention of ever getting dragged into writing for the Free! fandom. Well, here I am now, so, uh. Hi?


End file.
